


You Act Like Your Pussy Don't Interrupt

by Honeymull



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: F/F, Sexswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 19:37:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honeymull/pseuds/Honeymull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shape of Brandon under the bedclothes seems smaller, the curve of his neck a little more slender, his jawline rounder, and shit, Zach knows what's happened even before he scoots over to see for himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Act Like Your Pussy Don't Interrupt

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written like, two years ago, and technically as a follow-up to an old kink-meme fill that I'm not posting to AO3, because it's borderline badfic. (Parise spontaneous wakes up with ladyparts. Dubi picks him up, they bone, have feelings, and then Parise turns back. badfic, trust me.) This one's just porn, so it doesn't count. 
> 
> Title from Ol' Dirty Bastard, Got Your Money.

Zach wakes up and doesn't notice. 

He turns his head into his pillow and keeps his eyes closed even as awareness filters in. He breathes in, smells the clean linen and the combination of his own shampoo and the weird spicy stuff Brandon uses. He rubs his cheek against the pillow, still sleepy, absently trying to get closer to that signature Brandon-smell. Whatever. He's always been a sucker for scents.

It's not until he decides the pillow isn't a match for the real thing that he starts to notice that _anything_ is amiss. He shuffles forward to stick his face in the back of Brandon's neck, trying not to open his eyes against the sunlight filtering in. He encounters skin, mouths at the soft, barely-there hair covering the nape, and breathes in deep. The sun-warm smell sends a lazy, sleepy curl of heat through him, and he sighs, content. Reaches down absently to adjust himself, squirms around to get a hand out of the sheets and down his boxers and - 

Oh, shit. Zach groans, twists around in the sheets and flops back heavily onto the mattress. The movement jars the breasts he woke up with, and he clutches at them without thinking. This is _not_ happening again. He's still dreaming; this is just a flashback – okay, no, seriously, he's dreaming, because when he looks over to where Brandon's still out like a light, curled on his side with the sheets up to his chin, something looks... off. 

The shape of him under the bedclothes seems smaller, the curve of his neck a little more slender, his jawline rounder, and shit, Zach knows what's happened even before he scoots over to see for himself. 

Brandon's face is soft, his eyelashes a little darker, hair still short and wisping up over his ears and forehead. He frowns in his sleep, tugs the sheet up further toward his chin and Zach really doesn't want to wake him up right now. He stops himself from examining why he doesn't too closely. 

It doesn't matter, anyway, because while Zach is trying to decide what to do, what to say, how can he explain this for Brandon when he's himself still almost entirely in the dark about the why's and how's? - Brandon shifts in the bed and then freezes.

Zach knows he's awake; Brandon's breathing goes all funny when he's trying to feign sleep, and it's going nuts right now. 

He clears his throat. Even the rattle of that is higher. “Yeah, it's not just you.” His voice is weirdly familiar, and Brandon turns over at the sound of it, looks at Zach with this expression that Zach can't even – it's _stricken_ , surprised and distressed, and Brandon's eyes are even bigger in this face. Something starts hurting right smack in the middle of Zach's chest and he tries to brush it off with a smile. 

Brandon swallows and doesn't speak. He's shivering, just slightly, and Zach reaches out tentatively to run a hand over the goosebumps on his shoulder. Brandon closes his eyes and trembles harder when Zach touches him, before he tugs the sheet close in against his body and slides off the bed, out of Zach's reach. He stammers something Zach can't catch, hikes the sheet away from his feet so he doesn't trip, and makes his way into their shared bathroom. 

Zach doesn't move for a while. He's assuming Brandon's coming back out, but the minutes tick by, longer and longer, and he starts to worry. Well. Worry _more_. 

He climbs off the bed, finally, goes to the dresser and opens the bottom drawer. He pulls on the slim pair of pants, cotton bra and t-shirt folded neatly under a mess of socks and boxers. There's no real reason he's kept them, not like they're mementos or whatever, but there's always been something in the back of his head that wants to be prepared if the switch ever happened to him again. He'd rather not start from scratch all over again, so while he got rid of most of the stuff he bought, before, he's kept a few necessities. 

The other pair of pants he shakes out, the simple briefs and bra, all seem too small when he thinks about the new shape of Brandon he never really saw, covered by the bedsheet. Zach's not huge as a dude, at least compared to most hockey players. As a girl, he's even smaller, height down to 5'7 and plainly kind of skinny. He doesn't know how these things work, but he has a fast metabolism as a guy; he's assuming the same individualistic biology applies when he's a girl.

But Brandon's built differently, taller and bigger than him as a guy _and_ as a girl, and now he has a thicker, more compact shape that Zach's already itching to see. It's not like the bedsheet gave much away, but he's pretty sure his clothes aren't going to fit Brandon. 

He carries them in with him when he goes to knock on the bathroom door, anyway. Who knows. 

Brandon answers willingly enough when Zach knocks, if only to sigh and ask if Zach can pass him some clothes. 

Zach leans on the door, forehead pressed to the wood. “You know, you could just come out and get them. Not like I haven't seen you naked before, dude.”

Silence. 

“Fine. You want your normal stuff?” 

Brandon huffs something like a laugh through the door and Zach tries the handle again, as quietly as he can. He really just – wants to make sure Brandon's not freaking out alone, that's all. 

Brandon hears him, because of course he does. “Stop rattling the lock, you freak. That's creepy.” 

“Fuck you, it's my bathroom, too, and I _really_ don't think trying to open my own bathroom door is the creepy part of this scene.” Zach pauses. “Not – not that this is all, you know. Creepy. It's actually kinda hot. But – weird. Just weird. Mainly-” He raises his voice a little. “ _Mainly_ because you're hiding from me. Come on, man.” He got kind of pathetically plaintive at the end, there, but Brandon's – Brandon. He's not one to hide, and definitely not from Zach, not after all this time. 

There's silence again, too much of it this morning, and then the door cracks open just a little bit. Brandon's head pokes out, but his body's still hidden behind the door. He takes in Zach's clothes impassively and Zach shifts nervously. He almost feels like he's done something wrong by keeping this stuff, but Brandon's already brushing off the look he had. “Okay. Gimmie those jeans you wore yesterday, with the- the-” one of his arms appears to gesture vaguely in the air “the pockets, and that stupid cow shirt of yours. Your shit's gonna fit me better than your chick stuff. No way I'm fitting in those fucking skinny jeans. Christ.” He huffs, lips pouting out briefly, then closes the door in Zach's affronted face.

| | | |

Brandon still doesn't come out for a good twenty minutes after Zach gets his clothes and passes them through to him. Zach's slumped against the opposite wall, all folded up on the floor with his arms across his knees, when Brandon finally opens the door all the way and steps out.

Zach looks up and swallows hard. Brandon's shorter, yeah, but he's still tall, taller than most girls. 5'10 or 11, maybe. Zach as a guy would probably be able to look Brandon as a girl in the eye standing in socked feet. He fills out Zach's clothes, too, Zach's flat-ass jeans stretching over his hips so much it's probably uncomfortable, though the hems drag on the carpet. Zach can see a sliver of midriff, too, as his chest pushes out the fabric of Zach's t-shirt, warping where the bottom edge of it falls. 

Brandon fidgets, pulling at the shirt until it reaches the top of his jeans. Zach pushes himself to his feet but doesn't come any closer. Right now, it would suck a lot more to have Brandon shy away from him again than to just – not try at all. He keeps one hand on the wall to remind himself of that; he _wants_ to step forward and peel Brandon right out of his clothes, but from the way Brandon's barely meeting his eyes, that's probably not going to be well-received at the moment. 

He settles on asking, “You okay?” in a low voice. 

Brandon smooths a hand over the curve of his hip, expression still unreadable. “Yeah. Just. Your clothes suck. And I feel weird.”

Zach stares at him. “That's...that's probably because you woke up a girl.” 

When Brandon glares at him and turns his back on him to stomp into the kitchen area, Zach can't help it, he's a horrible person, he knows this, but he whistles under his breath and calls after Brandon's retreating form, “And hot damn, what a girl.”

He gets a middle finger flicked up at him in response. He grins. It's a step forward.

| | | |

Brandon makes pancakes, then insists on going shopping after nearly pantsing himself every five minutes by tripping on Zach's ill-fitting jeans.

Zach almost refuses on purely selfish reasons – he's getting wet just watching Brandon eat, for god's sake, sitting tucked carefully into their kitchen chairs, too-long jeans ratty around his knees and ankles, the denim stretched around thicker thighs, his hair all mussed up around his face still. Zach doesn't really have a set type when it comes to girls, but this is Brandon, through and through, and just that would be more than enough to get him hot. Add in Brandon almost bursting out of his shirt, guileless and seemingly unaware of how he looks every time he shifts, and it gets ridiculous. Zach can...pretty much see straight through the thin fabric of his shirt, and his pancakes end up barely touched as Zach slouches in his seat and tries not to sneak a hand under the table to give himself a quick, comforting stroke or two. 

That might freak Brandon out. 

It still takes Brandon asking twice about getting new clothes before Zach can focus again, and he turns an admittedly heavy-lidded gaze on Brandon. It's not intentional, but it causes Brandon's eyes to go wide, and then – oh, Zach is so very fucked – he _crosses his legs_ , dropping his eyes like he's embarrassed, and Zach knows exactly what's going on there. He goes hot all over, shifts forward on his seat and rocks against the edge of it, looks right at Brandon and waits for him to meet his eyes again. There's no real relief in working himself against the corner of the chair, but still: Brandon's sitting there getting wet, too, Zach knows that much; they've been fucking for months and the sex-flush crawling up the arch of Brandon's neck is exactly the same even in a slightly different body. If reaching down and touching himself right here at the kitchen table is going to send Brandon running, he needs some way to not go a little crazy. 

Brandon blinks quickly down at the table, shifting like he can't get comfortable. He laughs a little bit, but it's strained. “So, that feels weird.” His cheeks are bright. 

Zach swallows down a whimper and plants his hands palms-down on the table. “No kidding,” he says, hooking a leg around his chair and dragging it closer to the table. “But you get used to it. It's really,” he bites his lip against a shocked, breathy gasp, howishealreadythisclose, as his hips roll just right, catching the seam of his jeans right up against his clit, “ _really_ kind of fantastic once you do.”

And then Brandon reaches a hand down between his legs right there in their fucking kitchen, presses his fingers up against himself and rocks into it. He's biting his lip, frowning a little, definitely uncertain, but that mouth of his falls open with a wet sound when he touches himself, watching how Zach moves like he's trying to learn this for himself. 

All of Zach's good intentions go out the window once he's faced with Brandon trying to bring himself off in the middle of the day, squirming around on his own hand at their breakfast table, and he slides a hand into his own pants, presses two fingers in hard to either side of his clit, flexes them twice and drops his head with a dull thunk onto the wooden table next to his plate as he jerks his hips up helplessly and comes, all the tension that's been building up in him ever since Brandon hightailed it out of their bed this morning rushing up and out of him in one hurried burst. 

His fingers are wet when he draws them out again, and his vision isn't so very blurry that he can't see Brandon staring at him incredulously, eyes dark and cheeks so flushed, making tiny bitten-off sounds as he still rocks up awkwardly against his own hand. 

Zach clambers off the chair, rounds the curve of the table on wobbly legs as quickly as he can and slides onto Brandon's lap, wedged between the table and Brandon's body, legs sprawled to either side of him. Brandon tilts his head to meet Zach's kiss, and it's messy and sloppy and Zach has to catch his breath for a moment as Brandon's thigh slips up to press against him. He's a little sensitive, but it still feels fucking amazing – but first things first. He worries Brandon's bottom lip with his teeth for a moment before he brings his hand up to Brandon's jaw. He can smell himself all over that hand, knows from the helpless droop of Brandon's eyes that Brandon can, too, and he flicks an eyebrow up, half smiling as Brandon groans, turning his head to suck Zach's fingers into his mouth. 

Zach ducks his head to swipe his tongue over Brandon's mouth and his own fingers, feels more than hears the hungry little groan Brandon makes when Zach flicks his tongue in between his own knuckles, then presses down with the fingertips resting against Brandon's tongue when Brandon tries to suck them in further. 

The chair scrapes across the linoleum, scooting them back a few inches when Brandon plants his hand across Zach's lower back, hand skimming his ass, pulling him down hard against Brandon. Zach loses his balance at that, one of his legs losing its traction on the slippery tile floor, so he twists a hand in the neckline of Brandon's shirt to steady himself. “Watch it, watch it -” he gasps, voice high and strained. Brandon's eyes flicker up to his in something like surprise and Zach remembers being startled almost constantly at the fact that he was in such a foreign body, for weeks after it first happened to him. 

He sighs and slows down enough to bump his forehead in under Brandon's chin, speaks into the thin skin of his throat. “You'll get used to it. Or you'll change back. Promise.”

Brandon presses harder with the hand holding Zach in against him, the smaller width of his hand covering Zach's ass now. Zach feels the fingers there flex, and he mouths up Brandon's neck. He breathes him in. “You still smell the same, you know that?”

Brandon hums back at him and Zach follows the vibration down to the hollow of his throat. “Still smell so good. Dunno what it is, but - “ he trails off to moan on his next inhale, opens his mouth over Brandon's collarbone. Sets his teeth lightly above and below it, but doesn't bite down. Brandon works his hips up against him, not that it's much use when they're both still wearing jeans. 

Zach unknots his hand from Brandon's shirt and smooths his palm down Brandon's side, down over the skin layering the sides of his ribs, over the cloth. He pauses for a second, then continues the path down further, across the curve of Brandon's belly, his pinky skimming skin where the shirt's hiked up. 

Brandon shivers at that first touch of skin-on-skin where things are so different, now. Zach closes his eyes and sways in, knocking his forehead against Brandon's as he brings his hand up further to trace over the curve of Brandon's breasts. Brandon starts whining, this urgent, straining hum in the back of his throat, and his hand opens and closes on Zach's ass, his other one gripping Zach's hip so hard it almost hurts. His lips are bitten red and raw when Zach slivers his eyes open briefly, before he runs the back of his knuckles over Brandon's nipples pushing through the almost-unnecessary barrier of the t-shirt and Brandon starts panting out, “Please, please – Zach, you gotta, please, fuck, _Zach_ , come on, just -”. And Zach's brain tries to go offline to deal with Brandon begging, with his voice all raspy and indistinct and _pleading_ , oh god, they're not leaving their apartment for a week; this is just way too good to leave for any length of time. 

He scrunches down in the seat, blesses the fact that this body's retained some of his previous body's flexibility, shifts his ass further back on Brandon's thighs and licks a stripe across Brandon's right nipple. It's straining against the clean cotton, tastes like detergant and sweat. When Brandon whimpers, Zach jerks involuntarily, something that comes damn close to another orgasm. Not quite, though, and he feels briefly guilty that Brandon's still shaking with the need to come while Zach's nearly come twice. 

With that thought in mind, he sets to making it right, rolling Brandon's nipple into his mouth through the shirt, sucking hard and scraping his teeth over it before letting it go and treating the other to the same. He's missed this, a little, the heavy weight of breasts in his hands, even though he feels a little like he's still in high-school with the way he's going at them _over_ Brandon's shirt. He doesn't really mind: the sounds Brandon's making are far more pornographic than virginal. 

Still, he sneaks one hand down to the waistband of Brandon's jeans, slips under the t-shirt and makes an inquiring noise up at Brandon, unwilling to stop running his tongue over his nipple long enough to ask outright if he can take it off. Brandon says, “Yeah, yeah, off, good idea.” in that new, hoarse voice of his that's going to drive Zach crazy in a few minutes if he insists on talking right now. 

Brandon doesn't help, and Zach struggles to lift the shirt up and off of him as quickly as possible. Apparently his hands go a little useless when they're not occupied with feeling up his boyfriend's magical new breasts. 

As soon as it's off, though, he gets his tongue on _skin_ , and oh, fuck, that's so much better. Brandon's a little salty with sweat, rocking up against Zach and back against the chair, and Zach's eyes nearly roll back in his head when Brandon snakes his hand into Zach's pants, all hesitant movements like he _hasn't_ fingered Zach through his panties before. 

“I remember this,” Brandon whispers into the top of Zach's head. He doesn't actually move his fingers, just rests them on top of the fabric of Zach's briefs. Zach bites down a little harder than he should on the nipple he's playing with, and Brandon chokes on a moan. 

“So you _do_ know what you're doing; that's great, you can get on with it,” Zach bitches, half under his breath, soothing the sting of the bite by running his thumb over the swollen nub. It's shiny with spit and his thumb comes away wet. 

Brandon strains up toward the touch, mutters, “Harder, do it harder, come on -”

Zach draws away a little bit to look up at Brandon challengingly, wriggles his fingers where they're still hooked next to the button on Brandon's jeans. “I will if you will.”

Brandon's eyes close for half a second before he's nodding hurriedly, shifting his hand so Zach can work his hips up against the palm of Brandon's hand while his fingers slip under the cloth. It feels different with Brandon's smaller fingers stroking up in him, but at this point, any weirdness is negated by how fucking amazing it feels to have something to clench down on. Zach possibly makes an embarrassingly high noise when Brandon goes right to two fingers, shoved in deep, for Zach to ride. 

After his brain clears from the initial burst of heat from that, Zach remembers himself, pops the button on Brandon's jeans and follows Brandon's lead, dipping his thumb beneath the fabric of Brandon's briefs to slide through the wetness there. Brandon's _soaked_ , and Zach can feel his clit throbbing beneath his fingers. 

The first pass he makes against it sends Brandon jerking up into him, makes him sob out a breath and bury his face in Zach's neck. He still manages to keep his fingers working against Zach, though, somehow, and Zach pauses, then presses a kiss to Brandon's neck – they're all twisted up, balancing precariously on the chair, braced by now almost entirely against the table – as he slides his middle finger into Brandon, keeps his thumb pressing to the side of his clit. 

And that's it, that's what it takes, just one finger sliding in and crooking up, as Brandon hiccups out a cry against Zach's collarbone, shuddering and shaking his way through his orgasm. Zach screws his eyes shut and waits for him to come down from it so he can drag Brandon back to their bed and make them both come again and again, show Brandon how it can be even better.

\- 


End file.
